


what a pity that it is (to write you in a song)

by segs



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segs/pseuds/segs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan’s been working at this Hot Topic for exactly three weeks and four days, and if he’s honest, he has the exact hour he started buried somewhere in the file cabinets in his brain. It’s the worst job he’s ever had. Brendon is a stranger who decides he needs Ryan's help with impressing a girl he likes. It goes exactly as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what a pity that it is (to write you in a song)

Ryan’s been working at this Hot Topic for exactly three weeks and four days, and if he’s honest, he has the exact hour he started buried somewhere in the file cabinets in his brain. It’s the worst job he’s ever had, and also the first one, because he doesn’t think an after-school detention of alphabetizing Mr. Bronson’s bookshelf really counts as a job. 

“Hey. Brian.”

Ryan’s gotten tired of correcting her. He wonders why they don’t just wear fucking name tags. “Yeah, Audrey?”

“You put the new order of Linkin Park t-shirts on the wrong rack.” He absolutely does not struggle not to roll his eyes. “See? They’re supposed to match with the frames on the wall.” Audrey gestures, as if he could somehow miss it.

Linkin Park. Fuck. They wanted to try to blend genres, make it interesting, but they don’t know punk and they can’t rap. Like a toddler mixing together red and green and wondering why the color turned out to be shit-brown.

“Yeah, sorry.” 

He’s not really sorry and she gets this look on her face like she knows he’ll mess up again, and continue not to be sorry the next time, but she lets it go. She huffs, making the choppy pink bangs on her forehead flare up, and says nothing else.

The worst job he’s ever had. Right. It seems fun in theory because Ryan loves music. After spending so much of his time with his ear Not pressed up against the door to listen to what incessant bullshit his parents were fighting about, he got used to drowning it out with music. He thinks it’s probably typical teenage shit, but it means something to him, so. 

This is definitely not what he had in mind, though. To be fair to himself, the last time he visited a Hot Topic was when he was twelve, and they were still selling the good Blink-182 shirts. So he arrives for an interview after a lengthy online application and sees the Justin Bieber merch on the walls and, well. He needs a job, okay? So he answers the right questions in the right ways.

Now he’s selling rubber bracelets with that Twilight guy’s face on it to pre-teens with badly-dip-dyed hair and he hates his job and practically everything it stands for. He’d quit if he didn’t desperately need this. Plus, going home right after school doesn’t sound appealing anymore. Ryan’s gotten used to getting home long after his dad drank himself to sleep and, okay, he likes that part. If he’s being honest.

Audrey pops her gum loudly, which can only be done to annoy him. She hasn’t been there for very long, maybe only a few weeks longer than him, but she acts like she’s superior anyways. “Slow day,” she says, and pops it again, even louder this time, as if it could be fucking possible.

“Mm.” They’ve fulfilled the quota for their conversation today, so if all goes according to tradition, she should barely open her mouth for the next couple hours. 

Except things don’t like going according to tradition.

“Hey, Audrey!”

If songbirds could speak, it would probably sound like the way this guy talks. Ryan makes a strong effort not to bite the inside of his cheek when he approaches, this kid with this ridiculous grin and an unfortunate haircut. “Can we help you?” he asks, before Audrey can even open her mouth.

“Um.” The kid looks at him briefly, his eyes crinkling up with the strength of his smile. “No, uh. It’s just -- Audrey? It’s Brendon?”

Ryan isn’t interested in seeing this kind of heartwarming reunion, he really isn’t, but like most things, this doesn’t appear to be his decision. That’s really the issue with his life. Everyone decides things for him. 

Audrey’s face lights up like Ryan’s never seen it. Great. Old exes or something. “Dude! Brendon!” 

They hug, and Brendon’s short enough so that his face goes into Audrey’s chest, and Ryan is just about finished with watching this, so he mumbles something about sorting through new orders and slinks off to the back room, just in time to hear Brendon’s excited whisper, “Your hair is pink...” 

Ryan really fucking hates this job.

...

Spencer picks Ryan up after work, because Ryan’s car is shit and gets approximately nine miles to the gallon on a good day. Ryan works until closing which usually means grabbing milkshakes, complaining about his job to an increasingly patient Spencer, and then arriving home in time to put off his history homework until bed. 

Spencer takes one look at him and says, “You look like shit.”

Ryan grimaces. “Thanks. Bad day.”

“Bad day as in, an actual bad day?” Spencer asks, and Ryan rolls his eyes before the rest of the sentence can even continue. “Or one of your bad days caused by your unnecessary amount of exaggerated teenage angst?”

“You used to be fun until you took psychology.” 

“You were fun until you turned thirteen.”

“Milkshakes?” Ryan asks hopefully. “I’ll pay.”

Spencer snorts. “Why else do I keep you around?”

...

Brendon shows up the next day, too. It has to be some kind of karmic retribution. Ryan wonders what he did to deserve this particular kind of punishment.

Brendon comes up to the counter right after Ryan’s finished ringing up a customer, some pre-teen with an unfortunate obsession with those jelly bracelets. “Um --”

“Audrey isn’t working today,” Ryan answers automatically, not looking up from his book. Thursdays are his one sanctuary. They’re slow, so he works by himself until seven, when Jac comes in and flips through a magazine in lieu of actual work. He doesn’t hate her presence because she leaves him alone most of the time, and she has a pretty face, the kind he doesn’t mind sticking around.

Ryan likes Thursdays. This kid standing in front of him, wearing what can only be described as pro-abstinence propaganda printed onto a t-shirt, is effectively ruining the one good day out of his week.

“I wasn’t...” Brendon pauses. Ryan actually decides to look to his face now, and he’s got his eyebrows furrowed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

That gets his attention. “Really.” 

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Brendon’s eyes are wide and Ryan’s vaguely reminded of some kind of baby forest critter. “I was wondering if you had tickets to uh... Fall Out Boys? They’re coming into town?”

Ryan does not twitch. He does not. “Uh.” He coughs. “You mean Fall Out Boy?”

Brendon’s face brightens. “Yeah! Them!” He has an earnest look on his face, and it almost makes Ryan less annoyed. It almost makes him look bearable to be around. “I’m like, a big fan.”

Ryan truly wants to die. “Yeah, I can really tell.” Without waiting for Brendon to respond, he adds, “Nice shirt.”

Brendon looks down. “Yeah, it’s, uh. You know. Ironic.”

“Ironic,” Ryan repeats, staring intently at the lettering on the fabric. God’s Formula for Passionate Living! Pure Joy!

“Yeah, you know. It’s ironic. I’m not really pro-abstinence. That’s the joke.” Brendon leans forward so the counter obstructs some of the letters. “I got it at Goodwill.”

Maybe Ryan doesn’t get irony anymore. “I can’t imagine who would want to get rid of that.”

Brendon laughs. “Mormons, probably.” 

Ryan looks around the store. The only customer is looking through some t-shirts on the back rack, and Jac won’t be in for another hour and a half, so maybe he’s stuck with this. “You like Fall Out Boy, then.” 

“Yeah!” Brendon smiles, as if pleased that Ryan is starting conversation with him. “But the tickets are sold out, so...”

Ryan knows. He’d had no money when they went on sale, and by the time his paycheck came, they were gone. He’s still feeling sour about it. “No luck here. I’m in the same boat.”

“You like them, then.” Brendon fiddles with a string hanging off his shirt. “That’s cool. I... was wondering what your other favorite bands are.”

“Why are you so interested?” The customer who spent the last twenty minutes looking at t-shirts makes her exit empty-handed. Great. He is stuck with this.

Brendon chews on his bottom lip. “There’s a...” He pauses, as if searching for the right words. “Girl. There’s a girl I like. And she likes all those bands and I’m trying to learn more. You know. Like maybe then I’ll have a chance.”

Ryan stifles his scoff. The last thing he wants to do is help Brendon out with his misplaced crush on Audrey. He wonders how long it’ll take for Brendon to come to his senses and look past the pink hair and decent cleavage. “Can’t you just be yourself or something?”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” Brendon says, frowning slightly. 

Clearly. “Maybe start by learning the names of the bands you claim to like.”

Brendon flushes, his cheeks going pink. “I do like them.”

“Right.” Ryan glances briefly up at the clock. It feels like he’s been stuck in this conversation for hours, but it seriously has only been five minutes. “I don’t know if I can help you.”

“Okay.” Brendon looks resigned for a second, like he may actually just turn around and head back out. He doesn’t, though; Ryan can’t even dare to hope. He just stands there, looking dejected and sad.

Ryan sighs, as loudly and obnoxiously as possible. “Are you just going to stand there looking rejected?”

Brendon actually laughs, sharp and clear. “Yes.”

“And you’re just gonna do this until I agree to help you out?”

“Well... if it helps.” Brendon presses the heels of his palms into the counter, leaning forward a little. “Does it help?”

Ryan scrubs at his face with one hand. He doesn’t even have a customer in sight, nothing to excuse himself from this conversation, and if he’s honest, Brendon’s doe eyes are doing their job in worming some sympathy out of him. “What are you even asking me to do?”

It’s not meant to sound like he’s giving in, but Brendon’s face lights up anyways, splitting into that grin that makes his eyes crinkle. “Take me under your wing. I’m asking for like, a punk rock tutor.” 

Ryan can’t help his snort of laughter. “Punk rock tutor,” he repeats, as if reiterating how ridiculous it sounds.

Brendon isn’t phased, though. “Yes. Exactly that.” 

Ryan drums his fingers on the counter just once, and he doesn’t really know what possesses him to open his mouth and say, “Alright, fine.” It’s probably Brendon’s face, the doe eyes, the earnest grin, the way his whole body looks on the verge of brimming with hope. It inadvertently tugs at some kind of empathetic string in Ryan’s stomach. He thinks he’ll probably end up regretting this.

But Brendon just looks excited, and he ducks his head, that stupid grin on his face again. “I can’t believe I actually wore you down,” he says.

“Yeah, well.” Ryan can’t believe it either. “Give me your number before I change my mind.”

Brendon opens and closes his mouth, looking confused. “Oh, you know, I...” He looks down then up, shifting his weight from side to side. “I don’t have a phone.”

“Seriously?” God, what is with this kid? “Did you figure out that being poor is punk rock?” It’s harsh but he doesn’t mean for it to come out that way. He jams his mouth shut. Not the time to be insensitive.

But Brendon only laughs. “No. I just... don’t have a phone. It’s not that weird.”

“Sorry,” Ryan says, not sounding sorry at all. “How are we gonna do this, then?”

“I can wait for you after work.” The way it all rushes out makes Ryan believe that Brendon has been working up the courage to say that this whole time, and privately he kind of thinks that’s funny and endearing, if he’s honest. “And we could hang out. If that’s okay.”

Ryan chews on his bottom lip. Work doesn’t end until nine, and he doesn’t have any place to be after that, unless milkshakes with Spencer counts as anything. He could always call and say he’ll get a ride home from someone else. God, why is he even considering this?

Looking at Brendon’s face then is a mistake, because he looks so passionately earnest, like spending time with Ryan is a genuine dream come true. Ryan has never had anyone look at him like that. God. Okay. Okay.

“Alright. Yeah, that’s fine.” He can’t figure out the harm in it. It’ll come to him later, but for now, this is fine. He’s fine. “You have to take me home, though.”

“Deal.” Brendon grins big. “I’ll see you after, then.”

“Yeah. Guess you will.” 

Brendon drums on the counter with his fingertips and then flashes that stupid smile again. When he turns to leave, Ryan stares after him, feeling almost helpless. Fuck. He really needs a better job.

...

Ryan doesn’t see Brendon for the rest of his shift, which is mildly surprising. He’d kind of expected Brendon to stick around, waiting for him like a puppy, lurking around the corner and twiddling his thumbs until closing. Rather, his shift goes uninterrupted. Jac comes in at seven as usual, sits at the closed cash register flipping through her magazine and changing the music to Britney Spears just to piss people off, and then leaves just before closing. She doesn’t do much, but Ryan doesn’t mind. It’s a slow day.

Ryan doesn’t see Brendon until he’s locked up and steps into the cool air outside. He’s leaning against a column, staring at the ground, looking quiet and peaceful. God. Ryan wonders if Brendon has some kind of record for how long he’s managed to keep his mouth shut and enjoy the silence. He doesn’t seem like the type to keep quiet for long.

“Hey,” Ryan says softly, not really wanting to break the silence.

Brendon jumps a little, lifting his head. “Hi.” His mouth splits into a grin. “You don’t have a car?”

“Nope.” He doesn’t really think much of it. It’s annoying, but circumstances could be worse. He doesn’t live far from where he works, and on the days where Spencer can’t make it, it’s not a difficult walk. “I can’t afford it.”

“Oh.” Brendon looks sorry for a second but clearly thinks better of it. “Well. What do you want to do?”

Ryan hates how predictable his sweet tooth is. “Do you like milkshakes?”

...

“You’ve never listened to Green Day.” Ryan says the words out loud just to see how they feel coming out of his mouth and he finds that he excessively hates them. “Never. Not once in your life?”

Brendon ducks his head and sucks his chocolate milkshake loudly through the straw. “I mean, technically I have?” He frowns and stares down into his glass. “That one popular song. You know the one.” He hums the tune a little bit, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that one,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. “Everyone has heard Boulevard of Broken Dreams. It doesn’t even count.”

Brendon looks affronted by this. “Well, then it doesn’t count. I’ve never listened to them.” 

“God.” Ryan scoffs, shaking his head. “What have you listened to?”

Brendon’s cheeks go pink with heat and he looks around the diner, as if worried that someone will overhear his pitiful repertoire. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Barely anything. Probably nothing. There’s no point even telling you.”

That’s probably fair. Ryan chews on the end of his straw. “So what exactly are you hoping to gain from me?”

Brendon grins around his own straw. “You know. You could tell me bands you really like, stuff that would be kind of impressive to... a girl. Bands I’ve never heard of and stuff. Does that seem weird?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Ryan says, but it isn’t that weird. Just weird that Brendon felt the need to come to him, a perfect stranger. Does Brendon have any friends of his own other than Audrey? “Google exists, you know?”

“Google and Wikipedia can be modified by anyone though,” he points out, as if this is something he’s already considered. “And at least you’re a real person. Makes it easier to trust your judgment.”

Ryan can’t argue with that. “How long have you known Audrey?”

Brendon frowns like this is a question totally out of left-field, which is ridiculous considering this whole Punk Rock 101 deal is about getting her attention. “Um.” He stirs his nearly-melted milkshake. “We grew up together and then kind of lost touch.”

Fated lovers. This is like all of Ryan’s least favorite movie cliches rolled into one unfortunate real-life situation. “Well, that’s convenient.”

“Convenient?” Brendon asks.

“Yeah.” Ryan leans back into the booth, sighing. “That you met her at the store for the first time in however long. And I was there. You know, it all kind of works out.”

Brendon seems lost. “I’m not following.”

“Well, this is all about her, isn’t it?” Ryan asks, quirking a brow. “All this is to impress her? The whole reason why you’re sitting with a total stranger at this shitty 24-hour diner?”

Brendon squints at him a little bit before his expression clears and he breaks into that silly smile again. “Oh, yeah.” He finishes off the rest of his milkshake, making obnoxious slurping sounds with his straw. “Super convenient. Like, fate or something.”

Fate. Ryan grimaces inwardly at the concept but keeps his mouth shut. “I don’t even like Audrey,” he admits. “She’s a pain in the ass.”

“Really?” Brendon kind of laughs at that. “I don’t really doubt that.”

“She could be worse,” Ryan amends, but privately... no, he really doesn’t know how she could get worse. “You’re not that bad. Maybe you’ll change her for the better.” He grins at that, his own stupid joke, but really he can’t imagine Audrey doing anything but chewing Brendon up and spitting him back out. Poor kid.

Brendon leans forward and rests his chin on his palm, smiling lopsidedly. “I’m not that bad?” he asks, looking positively thrilled by this observation. “Awesome.”

Ryan gets that he doesn’t give off the vibe of a guy who is easily impressed by anyone, so he lets this go with a wave of his hand. “Don’t get used to the compliments.”

“Fair enough.” Brendon actually does laugh at that, like Ryan is funny, like anything he has to say means anything at all. 

Ryan ducks his head. “I’ll bring over some CD’s, maybe,” he says, switching the subject quickly. “Some of my favorite bands. Stuff that I know she likes, too. Just to get you started, you know?” In his head he’s already cataloguing his favorite albums, which ones he’s comfortable letting someone borrow...

Brendon’s eyes light up. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, that’s really cool.” He looks so genuinely pleased that Ryan can’t fight the smile that flickers on his face. “Thanks.”

“It’s no big deal,” Ryan says, but for whatever reason, he can’t meet Brendon’s eyes. 

...

Brendon drops Ryan off at his house and Ryan almost invites him inside before he catches himself. Brendon and his stupid ironic abstinence t-shirt, his stupid car, the way he looks like he’s never seen dirt in his goddamn life even if that’s impossible, would be so out of place in Ryan’s home. 

Something in his stomach twists. Before he can help himself, he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” and then feels stupid for saying it.

But Brendon smiles. “Do you always go to that diner after work?”

“Yeah.” Every day. It’s a tradition. He either really likes milkshakes or just doesn’t ever want to go home. “You have any better ideas?”

“No,” Brendon says, tapping the steering wheel with both hands. “Just wondering.” 

Ryan feels awkward suddenly and just wants to get out of the car, but he doesn’t want to go inside. It still feels too early. He hates that feeling, the nervous edge in his guts, the slight tremor in his knees. But he goes anyways. Of course. 

“See you.” Brendon lifts a hand in a wave as Ryan steps out, and pulls away from the driveway before he even goes inside. 

Ryan grinds his teeth before he remembers he’s been trying to stop that. When he does open the door, the stale pervading smell of beer hits him all once. It’s silent and empty, which is why he waits, but it doesn’t help the smell. Ryan likes beer, doesn’t mind a few drinks at parties as long as Spencer is there to drive him home, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite get over the smell.

There’s something stupid in heavy at the bottom of his stomach when he gets into his room and he wants nothing in the world but to not think about it.

He can never bring Brendon here.

...

Brendon is waiting for him after work on Friday night, leaning against the same column, and Ryan feels the familiarity of it. He already texted Spencer to tell him not to pick him up. Somehow he’s learned to predict Brendon in the short time he’s known him.

“Hi.” Brendon plays with his keys in one hand, a dumb, happy expression on his face. “Sorry. I didn’t ask if you wanted to hang out or anything.”

“It’s fine,” Ryan says, because it is, funnily enough. He shrugs one shoulder. “I expected you anyways.”

Brendon laughs at that, lifting his head and meeting Ryan’s gaze. “Am I that predictable?”

“Definitely.” Ryan feels weird suddenly, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “What do you have in mind? More interrogating over milkshakes?” 

Brendon stands up a little straighter, looking smug. “Must not be that predictable.” He doesn’t explain, which is infuriating all on its own, but even worse accompanied by that stupid expression on his face. 

Ryan’s eyes roll almost automatically. “What are we doing, then?”

“Let yourself be a little surprised.” Brendon probably thinks he sounds mysterious and aloof but Ryan just wants to wipe that dumb grin off his face. It’s not even a little bit endearing, which makes Ryan kind of relieved anyways; it’s a full-time occupation, not being charmed by this kid.

“Fine.” Ryan is too tired to argue and Brendon is his ride home, so he follows without complaining. He could if he wanted to. He just would rather not waste his breath.

Brendon beams widely, like this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him. “I won’t take you too far from home,” he promises, but Ryan doesn’t even know if it’s okay to believe him. He can’t be bothered to start up this debate. He just nods wearily.

When Brendon turns the key in the ignition, he looks over at Ryan and says, “Cheer up,” with the tone of voice that suggests he really means it.

Ryan mumbles, “I’m just tired,” and rests his head on the window, the glass cool against his cheek. He closes his eyes as Brendon turns the radio station to some top 40’s countdown, and Ryan doesn’t even bitch about that. 

He ends up dozing off on accident, and Brendon shakes him awake after what feels like only a few seconds. “Hey.” Brendon’s face is close to his and his voice is a low whisper. “I took you home.”

Ryan scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. “Oh.” He feels awkward now, and a little like a dick, even if they didn’t have plans to begin with. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Brendon shrugs in the darkness. “It’s okay. You seem really tired.”

Ryan can’t see the features of Brendon’s face, which bothers him for some reason. In the cloudiness of his sleepy brain he feels somehow frustrated that he can’t see Brendon’s face. “I’m awake now.” He shakes his head and glances up at the front door. His dad’s car isn’t even in the garage. “You can come inside if you want.”

Brendon leans back into his seat. Ryan can imagine the pink in his cheeks even though he can’t see it for all the monochrome in the darkness. “If you’re sure.”

Ryan isn’t sure, if he’s honest, which he never is anyways. “Of course I’m sure. C’mon.”

Brendon follows him inside as Ryan just prays there’s no smell today. It works, slightly; it’s stale and old, but hardly there at all. No car in the driveway, and Ryan took out the trash this morning, so Brendon doesn’t even have to know. That makes something in his stomach settle and he doesn’t feel so close to throwing up anymore.

“It’s pretty clean,” Brendon notes when Ryan opens the door to his room, with the tone of voice that suggests he didn’t expect it to be. 

“You thought I was a slob,” Ryan says accusingly, shrugging off his hoodie and tossing it onto the bed. “I’m offended.”

“You just give off that vibe.” Brendon doesn’t even defend himself and also doesn’t ask before he sits down on the edge of Ryan’s bed. “I like it.” 

Ryan feels painfully awkward when he sits down next to him. “Thanks.” His room is nothing, really; he could say he wanted a minimalist design just to cover up the fact that there’s nothing there. A CD player and scattered cases, a closet with a pile of dirty clothes in the back that he won’t bother picking up until he has to, and his bed. There’s a stack of books and homework in the corner that he’s been meaning to get to, but that’s the extent of his decorating skills. 

“Since we’re here...” Brendon jerks a thumb to the collection of CD’s stacked by Ryan’s closet. “You said you would.” His voice is sing-song and smug, as if Ryan was going to back out or something.

“I said I would,” he mutters, but he’s still smiling. “Okay, okay.” 

They lay there for a while, barely speaking, Ryan’s eyes closed and his foot tapping along to the music. After the first several songs, Brendon lifts his head and says, “I like this,” and Ryan hums in response. 

“Have you never heard this before? It’s their first album.”

Brendon shakes his head and Ryan can feel the movement without seeing it. “Should I have?”

Ryan feels scandalized. “How can you even call yourself a Fall Out Boy fan?”

Brendon laughs, and he sounds genuinely pleased to have Ryan making fun of him. “I like their popular songs. The ones on the radio.”

“God,” Ryan says, and he laughs despite himself. “You’re a nightmare.”

“I know.” Brendon doesn’t even sound bothered. 

Ryan closes his eyes and starts humming along, tapping his fingertips on his knee, following the dips and rises in the music, you know that I could crush you with my voice... 

“Ryan?” 

“Hmm?”

“Just making sure you’re awake.” Brendon’s voice is quiet and soft like Ryan’s never heard it, and it makes him want to turn and look at him, but he doesn’t, because. He doesn’t need a reason. The song ends, and the next one begins, and still Ryan doesn’t say anything. He feels like he should but he doesn’t know why. Beside him, Brendon’s breath rises and falls, and it sounds like music but Ryan doesn’t know as much about it as he claims. All talk, really. 

“I’m awake.” 

“Okay.”

The next song begins.

...

The weekend feels awkward and strange, because he doesn’t work those days and spends most of his time in his room. The weekends are the only days his dad doesn’t work either, which means he’s gone, swallowing up some kind of eternal misery at a shitty bar downtown, and Ryan just sits in his room and contemplates doing homework.

He wants to call Brendon before he realizes that the stupid asshole doesn’t even have a phone. Stupid. Even worse that he wants his company. When did he get so desperate and lonely?

In the end he calls Spencer. “I’m miserable and bored. What are you doing?”

“Chemistry homework.” Spencer sounds muffled, so Ryan assumes he’s on speaker phone, imagines Spencer’s books sprawled out on his desk.

“I wish I worked on the weekends sometimes,” Ryan says. “I don’t give a shit if that makes me sound lame. It’s more money and less sitting at home doing nothing.”

Spencer laughs at him. “I thought you hated that place.”

Ryan does hate that place. That’s the thing. He hates Audrey who refuses to learn his name, and he hates all the kids who come in and don’t know the first thing about music, and he hates that they’ve started selling shitty t-shirts for shitty bands.

But lately. Walking out after closing to Brendon leaning against the same column every night, and then milkshakes, and then sitting in his room and listening to music and not touching or saying a word but it still feels like company -- it makes it a bit more worth it. Brendon is annoying and talks too much and pretends to know more than he does about, like, everything, but Ryan still likes having him around. Probably a testament to how lonely he is. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says lamely. “But it pays. And it’s something to do.”

“That reminds me.” Spencer’s voice sounds closer now, like he’s picked up the phone now and given up on his homework. “Who the hell is giving you all these rides home?” It sounds accusing but Ryan knows Spencer is just nosy. “Is it that...” He pauses, as if trying to remember something. “That girl that you work with. You know, the quiet one you like. Jac?”

Ryan stifles his laughter. “Come on. She’s out of my league.”

“Well, yeah.” Spencer does laugh. “That’s why I was confused.”

Ryan knows he’s expected to fess up now, explain, but for some reason he wants to keep it a secret. He likes having something that’s all his own. Some kid who gives him a ride home, smiles big and wide at him, listens to all the stupid bullshit he says with rapt attention, all of that feels like it should just belong to him, and he doesn’t think about why he feels that way.

“I’ve just been walking home most nights,” he lies, and then immediately feels guilty for lying. “Or sometimes this kid who works in the food court gives me a ride.” 

Spencer doesn’t answer for a beat which makes Ryan think maybe he saw through him, but then he just says, “Are you replacing me as your best friend? I’m offended.”

“Shut the fuck up.” But he smiles. “You can have your job back as my personal chauffeur if you really want it.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I just miss those milkshakes, you know?” 

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

“Not so much your company,” Spencer says, sighing like he’s tired of this conversation. “You can be so boring. But those milkshakes. I miss those.”

“You’re funny.”

“You didn’t think I actually enjoyed hanging around you, right?” 

“So funny.”

...

Before Ryan can say anything to him, Brendon raises his head and cracks that stupid smile and says, “Hey.”

“Hi.” It’s a quarter after closing, which means Brendon is late. It shouldn’t bother him that much and he knows that, but there’s something like anger bubbling up in his stomach and he can’t control it. “Where’ve you been?” 

Brendon ducks his head embarrassedly and the orange light from the streetlamp casts shadows on his face, making him look not even real. Ryan hates how he manages that. He wants in on the secret. “Sorry. Busy day.”

“Yeah.” Ryan’s hand itches. “Well, it’s not like we had plans.”

“No,” Brendon says carefully, his eyebrows furrowing. “Do we ever have plans?”

Ryan digs his fingernails into his palm. He wishes they had plans, or that Brendon had a damn cell phone, or that he was the kind of person to check with Ryan before he decided they would spend the rest of the day together. Ryan just hopes now that he’ll show up and the hope feels pathetic and stupid. “No. Guess not.” He paces forward, feeling tense and angry even though he has no reason for it.

“Are you okay?” Brendon follows after him, his voice sounding distant. “Are you mad or something?”

“No.” Ryan halts in front of Brendon’s car, and he knows by now that it’s unlocked but he doesn’t go inside. 

Brendon touches his shoulder once and Ryan turns around just to hide the fact that he almost flinches. Stupid. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “No. I don’t know.” Ryan sighs and chews on his bottom lip, all this pent-up frustration bubbling in his brain and rising like bile in his throat. “When are you going to ask her out? Like when are you gonna just, stop showing up after work?”

Brendon frowns, opens and closes his mouth like he has something to say but can’t get it out. He settles on, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Ryan repeats, and for some reason it makes the sickening burn in his stomach worse. 

“Do you not want me to --”

“No,” Ryan interrupts. “No, that’s not... No.” God. “Have you ever even kissed a girl? Ever in your life?”

Brendon is silent for a half a beat too long before he answers. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. Sure.” In the dim light cast by the street lamp, Ryan can just catch the flushed red in his cheeks. 

He scoffs. “Fuck. Come on.”

“I have,” Brendon repeats, his voice firm now. “Why does it matter? Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” But he does, for some fucked up reason, something angry and mean curling like embers in his guts. “Just pathetic. It’s pathetic. You’re going through all this effort and you can’t even kiss a girl. You’ve never even tried.”

Brendon dips his head, lowering his gaze, and Ryan can’t tell if he’s angry or not. “It’s not pathetic,” he says, but it sounds weak and bitter.

“Yeah, it is.” Ryan doesn’t know why he’s so mad but the ugly words keep coming out. “You’re hanging out with a fucking stranger like I’m gonna coach you. Like this will make her like you and it’s fucking stupid.”

It’s nearly completely silent for what feels like a full minute but can’t be more than a few seconds, and all Ryan can here is the occasional car passing by on the street adjacent, the ambient noise of the city. “Close your eyes,” Brendon says in a quiet voice, and Ryan listens, for whatever reason, all the heat in his veins cooling down.

It’s all dark inside his head, all blank and quiet and small, and he doesn’t think about anything, doesn’t need to, and he can feel the brush of Brendon’s thumb or his hand on his wrist and maybe it’s because he can’t see him but it makes his whole body feel cold. And it’s probably that feeling that makes him hear blood roaring in his ears in crashing waves and Brendon’s breath on his cheek or something else, maybe, because there’s no way, there’s definitely no way.

But Brendon does kiss him and it’s soft and warm and something else that Ryan can’t explain, with a head full of words but none of them adequate. Ryan’s hands curl into fists at his sides and he doesn’t move a muscle. 

Brendon kisses him and kisses him and kisses him and Ryan kisses him back and then Brendon starts to really kiss him and Ryan jerks back and Brendon does too and then he opens his eyes and. His thoughts slow down. He can taste spearmint gum when he licks his lips. It’s still cold out, and all the little warm sensations running down his arms weren’t real at all.

“Okay,” he says, breathless. “Alright.”

Brendon wipes his mouth as if to get the taste off. “Okay.” He pauses. “I’ve kissed girls.”

“I’m sorry.” Ryan’s eyes are wide open now and adjusting to the darkness, and he can see Brendon perfectly, too perfectly, all the shadows on his face making him look ethereal. Beautiful. Ryan would say that if it didn’t mean more than the word. “Sorry,” he repeats.

Brendon nods but he still won’t look at Ryan. “It’s fine.”

“Did that do anything for you?” 

“No.”

“Okay.”

“You?” Brendon does look at him this time, his eyes wide and dark.

Ryan shakes his head. “Didn’t work for me.”

“Okay.”

Ryan steps back as much as he can in the space between Brendon and his car. “I’m gonna. I’m just gonna walk home. You know. I have to do some grocery shopping, so. Gonna walk.”

He can’t read his face this time but Brendon just nods and there’s some kind of hint of a smile there. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.”

Ryan doesn’t look back.

...

The next day at work Ryan can’t even look at Audrey. The day passes torturously slow even though it’s busy, and by the time it slows down closer to closing, Ryan is ready to be home already. He just wants to sit in his room, lay under the covers, do absolutely nothing for the next few hours, but he doesn’t even know if Brendon is going to be picking him up after work. He doesn’t know if he wants him to. Not being able to talk to him outside of seeing him makes it harder to say what he wants to say. But he doesn’t know what he wants to say, anyways. 

“Brian.”

Ryan’s jaw clicks. “Yeah?”

“Did you restock the blue dye?” She pushes her hair out of her face, and it’s faded to a rosy pink now. “We just got that order in.”

“No,” Ryan mumbles and sits up. “I’ll go do that.” 

“I’ll do it,” Audrey says before he can even get out of his chair. “It’s fine.” She actually smiles at him, even if it looks kind of forced. “You’re better with the cash register.” That’s probably not a lie, but still. 

Ryan slumps back into the chair. “Okay.” And, awkwardly, “Thanks.”

It makes him feel worse to admit that he still hates her, still dreads her presence and wishes he was working alone, but he can’t control that. He just can’t stop thinking about Brendon and his stupid crush and how desperate he is just to get a date with her. Ryan doesn’t get it.

It’s thinking about him that makes him appear, it seems, because Brendon’s poking his head in the entranceway to the store, looking around like he’s trying to see who’s working. Ryan sinks lower into his seat but Brendon spots him anyways and his face lights up as he comes in. “Hey.” He smiles like this is normal, like nothing happened, and Ryan wants to emulate the same effect but he can’t. He can still taste him, even after he showered and brushed his teeth and washed his mouth out.

“Hi.” No use trying to disappear anymore. He sits up a little straighter. “What are you doing here?” 

Brendon gives him a look, or Ryan’s imagining it, either way. “Is Audrey working?”

Ryan’s face gets hot. He wants to say no, no she’s not, usher him out of here before he can ask her out and make a fool out of himself because Ryan doesn’t want to see it. Secondhand embarrassment. That’s why. 

Before he can lie, Audrey pushes open the door from the back room. Brendon spots her instantly. Ryan’s whole body feels warm in an uncomfortable way. He wishes he had an excuse to go to the back room, to get out of this chair, this room, this city. Something. 

“Hey, Brendon!” Audrey looks happy to see him. Ryan wants to have an excuse not to look at them but he doesn’t, so he just looks down at his hands. 

“Hi.” Brendon has this stupid smile on his face. Ryan keeps forgetting not to look. “So maybe I’m about to embarrass myself, but --”

“I’m gonna restock the blue dye,” Ryan mumbles, effectively cutting him off. “Sorry. Carry on.” 

He just has to get the fuck out of there. He enters the back room, where a fluorescent light blinds him, and he just stands there, his whole body vibrating with some strange energy he can’t put a name on. He stares at the open box of blue dye. It all blurs together. 

Ryan doesn’t want to go back out. He doesn’t want to see Brendon’s face and he can’t figure out why. 

He punches out a text to Spencer.

you get your job back. milkshakes tonite?

...

Ryan doesn’t see Brendon for the rest of the week and then most of the next. He doesn’t want to say it’s on purpose even if it is; he avoids the front entrance to the mall where Brendon used to wait for him, always lets Spencer pick him up at the parking lot across the street. He just doesn’t run into Brendon. That’s simple. It doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

As fate would have it, though, he can’t avoid Brendon forever. Friday comes along, the only day he works alone the whole night, which makes it impossible to ignore him or pretend he came in to see Audrey when he shows up.

“Where have you been?” Brendon says in lieu of a hello.

Ryan glances around the store. Fridays are usually busy, but some higher power has it out for him, and he has to suffer through this alone. “Busy,” he says, lifting his gaze to meet Brendon’s eyes. 

Ryan would be able to deal with disappointment, but Brendon looks more angry than anything, his lips pressed into a thin line and his brows furrowed over his eyes. “Busy with what?” 

“I don’t know.” Ryan fiddles with the key hanging off the register. “Hanging out with Spencer, I guess.”

“Oh.” Brendon pauses, as if searching for something else to say. “Well, I waited for you. The past week or so.”

“Oh,” Ryan echoes. “Well. Sorry. I was busy.”

Brendon’s jaw sets in a straight line, and he looks away from Ryan for a second, his fingertips tapping on the counter. “You could’ve said something,” he persists, dutifully not looking at him. “I kind of felt stupid for waiting.”

Ryan squeezes his knee through the fabric of his jeans. “I didn’t think you would want to hang out,” he says, which isn’t totally a lie. “Lessons are over. Audrey thinks you’re cool enough to date. Problem solved.” 

“What?” Brendon frowns, now looking at him. “Like we’re not going to be friends or anything?”

“Do you want to be friends?” 

“Um.” Brendon swallows. “I assumed we would be.”

Ryan feels some kind of ache in his chest, something he can’t explain or name. “I thought -- you know. Now that you’re...” He trails off, not able to complete that thought process.

“No,” Brendon says, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips now. “I still don’t know anything about any of the bands she likes.”

There’s something warm in the bottom of his stomach now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think I might still need your help.”

“Okay.” Ryan ducks his head. “Alright. Maybe then... after work?” He doesn’t sound hopeful. He doesn’t.

Brendon smiles, big and wide, making his eyes crinkle. “Yeah. Okay.”

They’re okay. If there ever was a period where they weren’t, if Ryan ever for a second believed that they would never be real friends. Brendon pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, rapping his knuckles on the counter again, and he doesn’t say a word when he turns and leaves. Ryan watches him go, and his stomach curls into knots, every inch of his body warm to the touch, and he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t have to. It doesn’t need to mean anything.

...

They’re four songs into Nevermind -- this is one of Audrey’s favorite bands, and Ryan only knows this because she wears that stupid fucking t-shirt nearly every day -- when Brendon says, “I don’t think I like this.”

Ryan doesn’t get offended, surprising himself. “It’s not for everyone, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Brendon’s head is tucked onto a pillow by Ryan’s knees, and Ryan is curled up similarly the opposite way, so Brendon sounds muffled and Ryan can feel the heat that comes off his body without even thinking about it. “Can I be honest with you for a second?”

Ryan sucks in a breath. “Okay.” 

“I don’t think I like most of this stuff.” He laughs embarrassedly but Ryan isn’t making fun of him. “I like pop music, you know? Catchy stuff. Upbeat.”

Ryan does laugh at him, but it’s not malicious. “Since we’re being honest, I don’t know as much about music as you think I do.”

That delights Brendon; he lets out a sound of excitement and laughs, short and bright. “The only CDs I’ve ever bought in my life are Taylor Swift albums.”

“Oh my God.” Ryan laughs and laughs, his sides aching as he doubles over. “You’re the worst. You’re so awful.”

“I know, I know,” Brendon says, and Ryan can’t see his face but he can imagine his smile, big and wide, splitting his face in two and making his eyes squint shut. “I don’t know shit about Fall Out Boy. I just thought it’d catch your attention.”

Something warm starts in his stomach and spreads. “I don’t know anything about you,” he says, and it doesn’t mean to be accusing but it sounds like it. “I’ve been spending most of my time with you over the past month and I don’t know anything about you.”

Brendon is silent for a while, then he shifts so that his face is closer to Ryan’s on the bed, pulling the pillow with him. The close proximity feels strange, and Ryan has to remember to go back to normal and stop thinking about the things he’s thinking about. Brendon blinks at him, and his eyes are so close Ryan can count the different shades of brown in them, and he says, “What do you want to know?”

Ryan’s breath stutters and stops. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t. “What is there to know about you?”

Brendon bites down on his bottom lip and Ryan follows the movement, pathetically, and he can’t figure out why he’s paying so much goddamn attention. “My family’s Mormon.” Ryan’s eyes go wide and Brendon lets out a short laugh. “I have a youth group and everything.”

“Incredibly punk rock of you.”

“Fuck off.” Brendon shoves him on the shoulder. Ryan doesn’t like it when Brendon touches him but he can’t figure out why, put a name on it, explain it. 

“Since we’re confessing...” Ryan pauses. “My dad sucks.”

“Is that a confession?” But Brendon is smiling, and maybe there’s empathy there. Ryan doesn’t want pity. He wants someone to understand. 

“Yeah.” It is. “Your turn.”

Brendon eyelids flutter and drop, and he says, “I asked Audrey out.”

Something twists and expands in Ryan’s stomach. “I knew that. That’s not a confession.” His face goes hot and he hopes that his cheeks aren’t red. Or that it’s dark enough for Brendon not to be able to see. 

Brendon exhales, his eyes wide in the dark. “I don’t know why I did.”

“Oh.” Ryan can’t look at him so he doesn’t, looks anywhere but there. “Why do you --”

“Your turn,” Brendon interrupts. His breath comes out ragged like he can’t breathe. Ryan doesn’t understand. He’s all talk, pretending to know more about things than he does, acting like he’s wise to the world when he’s not. He doesn’t know anything. 

Ryan says, “I hate Audrey.”

A smile flickers on his face. “That doesn’t count. I already knew that.”

The music keeps playing, and Ryan isn’t listening, but he’s still aware of it in some way, all around him like ambient noise, stay away, stay away, and he whispers, “You remember when you kissed me?”

Blood roars in his ears and he can hardly hear Brendon when he says, lowly, “Yeah. You said it didn’t work for you.”

“Yeah.” Ryan can feel the pulsing in his veins, the way everything pulls and retracts, and Brendon is so close, so close he could touch. And that feels like something forbidden, something he shouldn’t do, because he’s not -- they’re not -- and he’s some kid who doesn’t know anything about what he wants to be or who he wants to impress and goes to youth group every Wednesday and church on Sunday mornings. He’s not anything at all. “I was lying.”

Brendon inhales sharply. In the darkness Ryan can see the whites of his eyes as he stares, and it’s unnerving somehow, the way he won’t speak, and the music keeps playing, keeps playing. Stay away, stay away, stay away... 

Ryan kisses him first this time. He wants the record to show that. He isn’t a coward. He isn’t scared. He’s been scared for most of his life and wallows in his own self-pity most of the time but he won’t do that anymore, he won’t, so he kisses Brendon first. 

When he pulls back, Brendon follows him, a hand gripping his shoulder, fingernails digging in. Against his lips Brendon says, softly, “Me too, me too,” and he keeps repeating it as if to let it sink in, to make sure Ryan knows. 

The fabric of Brendon’s cotton shirt is worn and thin when Ryan twists his hands in it, and for some reason he feels urgent, like they don’t have enough time when they do, when they have all the time in the world. Brendon kisses sloppy and unrefined but Ryan likes it, doesn’t even mind, can’t even bring himself to care.

Ryan shifts so that Brendon is beneath him, sprawled out, compliant and soft, and they stop for a second to breathe. Ryan’s heart is beating so fast he thinks he may die, his lungs pulling in air desperately, like this matters, any of it. Brendon’s lips are pink, his cheeks flushed red, and even in the dim light Ryan can see the quick rise-and-fall of his chest. “You okay?” he asks, softly, and then feels stupid for asking.

Brendon nods, says, “Yeah, yeah, just --” and slides a hand to the back of Ryan’s neck, pulling him down again. Ryan likes kissing him, likes touching him, likes just having him this close to him even if it doesn’t mean anything. Even if it doesn’t have to.

He has the sense to be embarrassed when Brendon presses against him and he can feel how hard he is, some kind of traitorous instinct from his body. Ryan breaks the kiss for a second, and Brendon is looking up at him, and this is the first time he’s seen him, the first time he’s ever had a proper look. 

Brendon reaches for his zipper the same instant Ryan does the same to him, and their hands are fumbling, no coordination. Brendon lets out this short breathless laugh when Ryan gets his jeans down to mid-thigh, because he thinks this is funny or what, Ryan doesn’t know. Ryan has to help Brendon but they get there, eventually, and then they just kind of stall out.

“What?” Brendon’s voice is a low whisper, his eyes wide. 

“I don’t know.” Ryan huffs out laughter now. “I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Brendon’s fingers slide along the waistband of Ryan’s briefs, and Ryan can’t do anything but watch him until his hand reaches underneath the fabric and curls around his cock. The sensation is unexpected and Ryan sucks in a harsh breath, closing his eyes and rocking into the touch. 

Ryan has to lean down then just to kiss him, which makes the angle awkward but it still works, Brendon making this short moan in the back of his throat, like he’s been thinking about this and maybe he has, just as much as Ryan has, all the times he’s not wanted to think about this but has anyways, biting on his thumb to keep quiet and just wanting it to go away. 

The kiss is messy like they don’t focus on it, but still makes something expand in his chest, something warm and content, and he reaches between them, where their arms are tangled together awkwardly, to cup the outline of Brendon’s cock in his boxer briefs. Brendon makes this noise, something in the vein of a groan and a gasp, and shudders against him. 

It doesn’t feel sexy, it doesn’t feel like anything Ryan’s seen behind closed eyes, but it’s special and secret and he prefers this anyway, the reality of it all. Ryan shoves his face to the side of Brendon’s neck, kissing along his shoulder, but he can’t focus on it.

It’s over quickly, their hands on each other moving too fast and without refinement, but they get there. Brendon lets out a wet gasp near Ryan’s ear, says, “I’m gonna --” and then does, coming between their bodies, but Ryan doesn’t care, can’t bring himself to.

Ryan follows in a burst of white light, his toes curling, every inch of his body on fire, and he drops his head onto Brendon’s shoulder and breathes in and out as best he can. Brendon says something but he can’t hear it, doesn’t try to. 

When he feels like he can, Ryan rolls off of Brendon, crashing to the bed beside him. He stares up at the ceiling, unable to shut his brain off. Brendon’s breathing is still harsh and fast next to him. He blinks once, twice, trying to make his thoughts slow down, but he can’t. 

Brendon breathes out loudly through his nose. “Are you okay?”

Ryan nods. He can’t trust his voice. After a beat, he manages, “Yeah.”

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. His eyes just close, and everything he hears starts to sound muffled and small, and when Brendon curls into him just a bit, the ambient noise of the music and the breathing and the air conditioning blends together, and Brendon tries to say something to him but he can’t hear him. 

He feels warm.

...

Ryan spends the weekend dutifully not thinking about Brendon, so by the time Monday comes around, he’s been Not Thinking about Brendon so much that it summons his presence in the store. That’s the only explanation. 

He recaps it for himself in his head: he wakes up Saturday morning and Brendon is not there, but there’s still the lingering smell of sweat and deodorant that isn’t his, so he knows it wasn’t a dream. He didn’t imagine it. And a screenplay of the night before plays in his head, frantic hands and gasps and saliva, and the music had stopped playing, and everything is quiet. So quiet. 

And it’s not like he can call Brendon if he even wanted to, not like there’s any way to understand him or contact him or figure out what the hell is wrong with him, what the hell, so he does nothing. Catches up on some homework but can’t focus on it. Calls Spencer. 

He spends the weekend not thinking about it.

But Brendon shows up on Monday, right in the middle of the rush, which Ryan is grateful for, he swears it. Now he has to watch Brendon idle around the store, pretend he wants to buy something when he doesn’t, while Ryan has an excuse not to look at him or acknowledge him at all. 

He has to succumb to some sort of gravity, though, and Brendon lingers until the crowd clears. Audrey conveniently disappears to the back room by the time Brendon walks up to the counter and Ryan is forced to suffer through this.

“Audrey isn’t working today.” The words sound ugly and mean when they leave Ryan’s lips, but he can’t take them back.

It feels like an echo to their first conversation when Brendon says, “I was looking for you.”

Ryan’s ears burn hotly. “Why?”

There’s a flicker of a smile on Brendon’s lips, and Ryan wants to see it spread, wants to see it grow too wide for his face so his eyes glitter and squint. “I told you that there was a girl I wanted to impress. And I needed your help for it.”

His jaw clicks, his teeth grinding. “I remember.” Of course he remembers. Did Brendon expect him to forget?

Brendon leans in, rocking on his heels, his palms spread flat on the counter. “I don’t like girls.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he could say. It doesn’t add up, the way Brendon’s face lit up when he saw Audrey, the nights he spent trying to impress her. He closes his hands into fists, feeling stupid and wrong, like Brendon knows the punchline to a joke Ryan’s never even heard.

Brendon glances around the store, still mostly empty. “I used to work at the Smoothie Hut in the food court,” he says slowly, like explaining something to a child. “And on my break I kept seeing you. Just moping around, like I was. And I wanted to talk to you but you never looked like you wanted company.” He pauses. “Then I saw Audrey worked with you, and I remember her from youth group, so I...”

The pieces start falling together in Ryan’s head. He stares up at Brendon and suddenly feels stupid. So fucking stupid. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Brendon smiles Ryan’s favorite smile, the one that looks too big for his face. “You were the girl.”

Ryan hates him in that moment. He really does. But along with the hate there’s something else, something stronger and ever-present, and Ryan remembers the first time Brendon came into his room and listened to his favorite album, and they were close enough to touch but they didn’t because. And then Brendon kissed him and Ryan’s hands went into fists and he wanted. He wanted.

But it seemed foolish to want. The minute you want something you have two options: to either have it or don’t. And then if you don’t, you’re left with an emptiness. Ryan didn’t want that. The emptiness. 

“You asshole,” Ryan swears, but even as he says the words, his chest expands and contracts, and the bottom of his stomach fills with something warm and unnamed. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I don’t know.” Brendon frowns. “I didn’t think that far.”

“You suck.” Ryan looks at him finally, and he hadn’t realized until that moment that Brendon was beautiful, or maybe he had but he hadn’t let himself think it. “You really suck. That sucked. To the highest degree.”

Brendon smiles. Maybe hopefully. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The seconds pass by like minutes and Ryan can’t look away, doesn’t want to, so he lets himself smile back, just a sliver of one. “I’ll see you after work.”

“Yeah?” His happiness is infectious and spreads to every part of Ryan’s body. “Milkshakes?”

“If you really think I’m that predictable.”

“You are.”

The puzzle pieces slot together and Ryan wants to touch him, wants the warmth and the contact, but he doesn’t. He realizes they have a million lifetimes for that, a million milkshakes and grins that make crinkly eyes, a million different times Brendon will be leaning against that same column and taking him home past midnight and kissing him, kissing him, always kissing him.

So he just says, “I know.”

Brendon still smiles.


End file.
